Permanence
by ratatatkat
Summary: Sora wanted to get a traditional hand-tapped tattoo as an homage to his island heritage, but with the pain bar him from the permanence?


The tapping of the needle into his skin was just as rhythmic and rapid as the beating of the waves against the shore. He focused on their movement, watching the frothy white foam cling desperately to the land as seawater receded back into its domain, tumbling over and repeating the process countless times. Sora convinced himself he could feel the rhythm of the ocean by digging his feet further into the soft sand, curling his toes and perching his weight on the tense but sensitive sensation, as if he was pressing to feel a heartbeat. Of course it was nonsensical, but it was an alternative to focusing on the searing pain.

He flinched as he was slowly forced to recall just how pressing the agony was. He knew better than to watch Riku as he applied the tattoo, but he couldn't seem to shake the visualization of that impossibly sharp, searingly hot little needle cloaked in a pasty mixture of jet black ink stabbing into the flesh of his bicep over and over and _over_ again, infecting him with purpose from the inside out.

He pondered the understanding why this had been considered a rite of passage in their culture, imagining in the past young boys little more than half his current age subjecting themselves to the scarification. Of course, to them it had been relevant and exciting, filling their hearts with currents of elation and pride to guide them through enduring the senseless pain. For Sora, this was now a welcome but long overdue symbol of homage to those before him, humbly substituting the stale construct of assumed honor for his own simple appreciation.

Although wandering in his thoughts, he consciously kept his arm clenched so tightly that it practically ached, but didn't dare move it in the slightest. Even his breath was shallow as he sat expertly still, fingernails digging into the flat of his palm to suppress the errant twitches and recoils he feared would cause the artist to make a mistake.

Riku seemed utterly blind to everything but his work, completely indifferent to the apparent suffering of his canvas. With one hand he pressed his fingers around the area he was focused on, and spread them just enough to render Sora's weathered, tanned skin firmly stretched across the taut muscle of his shoulder; prepared to welcome the newest round of cutting and branding. He paused barely a second to wipe the drained needle across the silken cloth that rest folded on his knee, then immediately refilled it with the flick of the wrist that dragged the point across the reservoir of ink and all the way back up to resume its work. The first puncture sliced into the surface his flesh like a fin cutting through water, quickly followed by a new chorus of seemingly erratic but truthfully skillful and precise notes guided by the steady hand of their composer.

Sora waywardly envied the fact that the silver-haired boy at his side had something so engaging and meticulous to be occupied with, when he was the one currently forced to stomach the intense discomfort of pain _and_ boredom all at the same time. He chewed his lower lip, threaded his free hand through his tresses of thick brown hair, continued wiggling his feet in the sand beneath him; trying anything and everything to lead his mind elsewhere.

"Stop moving," Riku suddenly barked a stern order, twitching his mouth into a tight frown to express his irritation with the subtle shakes and bumps that ever so potently disturbed his work.

"Sorry," he offered meekly, slightly straightening his torso and doing his best to reinstate his own discipline. "It's just starting to sting a little."

"A little?" he actually paused to scoff at his best friends' words. "You've been shaking like a leaf in the wind for about an hour now."

"Alright, a _lot_," the brunette admitted as he slouched forward dejectedly and struggled to squeeze the cold sweat and hot tears from the corners of his eyes. "Can't we take a little break?"

"No." Riku snapped unflinchingly. Subsequently, he sighed upon realizing the unnecessarily curt and cruel edge in his own voice.

"I'm tired, too," he consoled through his own misery, still refusing the break the incessant and focused tapping. "But trust me; the second I stop, the blood's gonna rush back and it's going to hurt way more than it does right now. You're not going to want to start again, and then you're gonna have to flash an unfinished tattoo to everyone, and explain how you were to much of a wuss to sit on your ass for a few hours."

"It's been a few _days_," Sora groaned, still sticking to his childish protest. In the midst of the statement, he darted his fingers to his collar and felt at where the previously applied and now healing markings stretched along his collarbone and threaded out thin to the left side of his chest, webbing artfully into the macabre, impressed scar over the place where he knew his heart to rest. "…I don't know how much more I can take."

"Not much," he replied nonchalantly, already falling out of presence in the conversation.

"After this, and I'm done?"

"It looks that way," Riku mumbled, sobering himself by tightening his fist ever tighter around the utensil. "Depends on how long you insist on bugging me."

"Talk to me," Sora practically pleaded, ignoring his quip as he tossed his head back and grit his teeth as an impulse of discomfort. "At this rate, I'm gonna lose it before you even get the _chance_ to finish."

"Come on, this seriously can't hurt that bad. Not for you, at least," he smiled to himself as he offered his own unique brand of comforting condescension. "You broke your own heart once."

"That was different," he assured as his fingers doubled back, trailing over the scar that alluded to that particular event. "That only hurt for a second, then I couldn't feel anything. Plus, _I_ did it to _myself_. I didn't have to listen to my best friend verbally _harass_ me as he stabbed a tiny little needle into my arm a million times."

"_Hey_," Riku piped up in a tone that mocked offense. "Don't make fun of my tiny little needle."

Sora paused for a moment, then snorted unattractively and burst into a small fit of raucous laughter. The joke was a welcome ease of tension; ironically taking place during a ritual that was supposed to reflect maturity.

"Size matters," he muttered as he stifled his giggles, glancing down to check his best friend's lidded smirk. It wasn't in him to actually laugh out loud at something so stupid, but the knowing expression he wore was an equivalent anyway.

They both gave way to silence once again, and although the sensation hadn't changed, Sora believed the pain had numbed ever so slightly. He did his best to relax his expression, then instinctively turned his gaze back to the ocean and noticed saturated palettes of yellow and orange on the horizon.

He tried his best to shut up. He knew that if he didn't let Riku work, the sun would set before the tattoo was done, leaving him without the proper light to continue. They would have to start again tomorrow, renewing and elongating the pain…

He didn't want to think about that. But there was one subject that drifted into his conscious as he watched the island breeze billow through the paopu trees; one question he couldn't seem to shake from wanting the answer to, nor stop himself from asking.

"…How was Kairi?" he asked meekly, recalling the way she and him had disappeared into seclusion several times in the past week in order to make progress on her own tattoo. Riku had just finished it the other day; she had been prioritized before Sora on the sheer grounds of 'ladies first'.

"How do you mean?" he prompted him to elaborate in the same detached tone.

"I mean…" Sora paused apprehensively; almost bashful about what privacy it was he dared to invade. "Did she, like… cry, or anything?"

Riku actually stopped his tapping and laughed hard at that, letting his face fall as he shook his head in derision.

"She didn't squirm and she didn't bug me," he answered. "She was a lot better than you, if that's what you're asking."

Sora's messy brown hair shifted as he lowered his head and gave a relieved smile, barely possessing the grounds to be offended by the quip.

"That's good to hear, then…" he trailed off, turning back to face the sunset. He tried to veil his intention through asking as a casual concern, but Riku knew him a little too well for that.

"…She's tougher than you think," he assured as he spared a glance up. "Don't fret over her so much."

His order was good-natured, but commanding all the same, and for once Sora felt grateful to have his best friend's abrasive personality as a foundation for his own values. He gave a curt nod to ensure he appreciated the sentiment, and soon enough the tapping resumed once more. Although now, his previously pained expression was replaced by a light, serene smile.

"Were you happy with it?" he asked waywardly, turning the course of the exchange down a polite diversion. "Did it come out good?"

Riku scoffed once more, but this time didn't bother to turn his eyes away from their focus.

"Don't pretend like you haven't seen her with her shirt off since I finished it, _loverboy_."

Immediately the fire he had been feeling in his arm drained, flushing to his cheeks and painting his embarrassment apparent to the surface with a lively shade of red.

"…Shut up." he muttered as he pressed his lips together, desperately trying to suppress a smile. Riku didn't bother making the effort to contain his.

Though his pride had faltered, it didn't take long for Sora to drift into the comfort of his own thoughts once again. He could imagine why she pined for privacy as her artist slaved over her own masterpiece, as she was forced to lay topless and face-down in the sand for hours on end. It couldn't have been comfortable for either of them, but she never expressed anything other than genuine appreciation for Riku and elated excitement for the sessions. She hadn't allowed him to see it until it was complete, but when it was finally his to behold, the long, lonely days spent wallowing in his irrepressible curiosity had been completely worth it.

It truly was a masterpiece, one that flowed down the length of her spine and cascaded along the curves of her lower back. Even though she had no say in what the design would be, it reflected her personality perfectly. It was a detailed, diverse, and incredibly beautiful mosaic of flowers, framed by the traditional patterned strings and flowing designs of their culture. Every stroke of black was stylized so smoothly and lusciously to purposefully accentuate her femininity, compared to the blocky, sharp, and thick motif that characterized the markings that now adorned his own torso.

He remembered how she allowed him to touch it, even though it likely still hurt. He remembered how even in the dull, flickering light of the fire, it looked gorgeous; /she/ looked gorgeous…

He stopped himself, lest he risk allowing the blood that burned his face to rush elsewhere.

Somewhere lost in the euphoria of the pleasant memory, Sora barely noticed when the slicing sensation he had grown so used to in the past hours had stopped completely. Only when he heard his name did he snap out of his trance.

"Well, Sora…" he announced as he rubbed away the excess stains from his work with the dirtied satin cloth. "That should about do it."

There was a moment before Riku's words even fully registered.

"Are you… all done?" he asked timidly, offering a platform to confirm his answer as he impatiently eyed the side of his shoulder.

"All done," he repeated, standing from his stool and making an exaggerated effort to stretch out his sore back.

"Can I look?"

"Knock yourself out."

Sora's face lit up as he extended his arm, wincing as the tender skin folded over itself but ultimately too excited to care. He carefully examined every new addition to the piece, ghosting his fingers along the contours of every rising and falling crest that wrapped around the diameter of his upper arm and stretched across both his chest and back. Every design flowed together seamlessly, rendering the piece a veritable beauty mark to now permanently grace his skin.

"Wow…" he breathed, still infatuated with gazing at the extensive patterns. He ghosted the tips of his fingers along the edges, feeling for himself the way the profound lines melded and moved as one with his body.

"I love it!" Sora gushed as he suddenly brought his face up, sky blue eyes gleaming with happiness and awe. "Riku, it's /perfect/!"

"Yeah, yeah…" Riku sighed with a tired smile, secretly warmed by the flattery. "It came out alright."

"/Alright/?" the brunette mocked as he turned his stare back to his newly bestowed body art. "Where did insufferable bragger Riku run off to? Tell him there's a significant accomplishment here he needs to rub my face in."

"Fine," his proud grin grew ever wider as he folded his arms across his chest. "It looks amazing and I am an amazing tattoo artist. How's that?"

"You seriously are…" Sora mused, distracted by his own bewilderment. The silver chain that rest perpetually around his collar jingled lightly as he stood and spun around, stretching his neck as if the movement would allow him a better view. "This looks insanely cool, but I'll admit… I can't even remember what most of it means."

"Well, that makes two of us…" Riku admitted, seeming to deflate a little with the confession. He frowned as he realized what meaning was lost at the cost of his own arrogance.

He held his breath as he began to grasp at the tarnished memories. In his childhood, he had hardly bothered to listen to his father's winded explanations that accompanied the intricate patterns he drew in the sand. His curious eyes had only stared and absorbed, then later guided his hands as they repeated the markings over and over and over again, until he was satisfied they were absolutely perfect.

Sora, too, recalled how blinded by jealousy he was when his childhood rival had come of age to receive his very first tattoo. It was a less than blistering insult to his pride, for he, too, would qualify to receive one if he simply waited another year. Little could he have known that such a relatively short time would have had such a monumental impact on his life.

A sort of regretful quiet dawned on them, and they wasted the moments pining for dead opportunities; curious about knowledge they could never again come to have and grieving for people they could never again hope to see.

The permanence of those solemn facts was haunting, and Riku sighed again as he recognized he wanted out of this thoughts.

"…To be honest, most of this is coming from what I remember of your dad's," he elaborated, darting a hand out to outline a few select points of significance. For him to at least halfway acknowledge what was on both their minds was enough of a comfort. "The rest is improvised, but… there are a few crests and patterns here and there that I'm /positive/ suit you perfectly."

"That… does make me feel better," Sora nodded slightly, assured by his words even though he had no way of affirming whether or not they were true. A part of him, however, was positive that this was a subject sensitive for the both of them, and knew Riku too well to believe he could lie about something that close to his heart.

"All that matters is that it looks nice, right?" he disrupted the touching thought. "Honestly, I think it came out pretty good."

"I'm /sure/ it it came out /very/ good," he smiled from ear to ear once again as he slowly set his arm down and stretched the sores from his joints. Longingly, he glanced at the horizon, pressured by the last fleeting minutes of daylight to assert what it was he wanted to do. "But I'm also sure it hurts like hell, and I could /seriously/ go for a swim right about now—"

"/No/," Riku snapped, interrupting his casual plea. "Absolutely not."

"Awh, why not?" he whined childishly. "You know saltwater is good for wounds!"

"And I know it's /not/ good for ink," he replied firmly. "I don't know whether or not it'll run, and I'm going to be seriously pissed if you ruin all my hard work for nothing."

"It won't run…" Sora muttered without conviction as he dared to apply pressure to the sensitive patches by brushing the side of his hand along his skin and trying to assure the ink was set enough not to smear. He flinched at the searing pain, but from what he could tell, the shapes still remained clean. "…See?"

Riku squinted at his arm, and then glanced to the same horizon his best friend had so pleadingly pined for. But, as a costly mistake, he made the mistake of reading his expression. Those big, sad, pleading eyes that stared up at him were assets that consistently assured Sora always got whatever it was he wanted. _Always._

"…_Fine_," he sighed, more than anything too exhausted to argue and only partially swayed by his pathetic puppy-dog eyes. "Do what you want. But, for the love of god, at least be _careful_."

"_Yes_!" he exclaimed, barely able to express his gratitude before he had bolted upright and sprinted halfway down the beach. "Thank you, Riku!" he called back, kicking off his shoes and tossing aside the shirt he held balled up in his hand.

He shook his head as watched him go, diving face-first into the first swell he met. He was too naïve and careless at times, but it was just as well. Those little shortcomings gave way to platform his unparalleled confidence and considerable strength. All of Sora's traits had been emblazoned and preserved now, permanence of the black splotches in the distance framed by the impermanence of the sunset as it faded in the sky. He turned away and felt assurance within himself for empowering his best friend with the image he had of him, and for that, he was actually proud. Riku's smile softened as he believed he had given him a truly precious gift.

As he gathered their things from the sand, he spared one final glance at his favorite part of the piece; on the area on the upper left of his back too concealed for its possessor to view on his own. Riku was sure he hadn't noticed it when he previously searched his torso at the awkward angles, and for that, he was grateful. The curled heart and caricature crown were intended to commemorate and accentuate the raised scar left by someone special, and as such, were intended to be first noticed and appreciated by someone special.

As for the markings themselves, they still seared and stung in reaction to contact with the saltwater, but their host didn't seem to care. He frolicked and kicked around in the surf, diving under waves and pressing off the seafloor to bob up for breaths of air. He didn't try to ignore the pain this time, but rather, slowed himself and took the time to savor it. He turned on his back as he drifted to a lazy float as he cleared the whitewash, experiencing the cold, salty embrace that had wrapped itself around him and seeped into his flesh through the open cuts. He welcomed it, humbled by the raw, ancient feeling of nature against his skin. The sea met with and readily accepted his body, in itself just as vastly apart of his culture and very soul as the shallow-cut but deeply meaning scars. The hollow feeling left by his insecurity and ignorance faded, supplemented so generously by the ocean's guiding grace and infinite purity.

He let his eyes fall closed peacefully, washing steadily up and down with the beating of waves that had not yet broken. Even though he was blind to witness them, Sora spent the last few moments of light anticipating how he would relish the moment when Kairi would behold his newly bestowed permanence for the very first time.


End file.
